


leave the very sexy but insane witcher to his inevitable demise

by Charlie_chan16



Series: are you perhaps short of a marble?! [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Constipated Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Friendship, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, That's a fucking tag??, The start of an amazing bromance, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 05:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30016665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlie_chan16/pseuds/Charlie_chan16
Summary: How Jaskier and Yennefer met.Side effects include: the start of an amazing bromance.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: are you perhaps short of a marble?! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122026
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	leave the very sexy but insane witcher to his inevitable demise

**Author's Note:**

> Have I told you guys how much I LOVE hurting Jas? 'Cause I love hurting Jas. 
> 
> Hello!! And welcome to part 3? 4? Eh I've stopped keeping count my brain keeps adding parts to this series left right and center.   
> ;  
> I haven't really got much to say really, apart from: enjoy the budding bromance between these two emotionally constipated numpties who live in my brain rent free. XD
> 
> Hope you're all staying happy, safe and sane!

The sound the hellhound’s corpse made as he hoisted it up onto the saddle made him flinch. It broke the calming silence that had fallen over his shoulders like a cloak, making way for the snarls that bounced around his head. He winced, stopped and stayed completely still, his eyes glued to the leather under his fingers as he desperately clung to the silence that slipped through his digits. Xen shuffled underneath the additional load on her back, nickering softly. Her soft snout pressed against his arm in an attempt to ground him. 

His sigh was heavy with relief once he regained his straining hold on the quiet, demons falling silent once more. He took comfort in Xen’s warmth as he ran his fingers over her neck, other hand securing the hound to her saddle with leather straps. 

“Sorry about this, Xen,” Jaskier murmured as the blood from the hound’s wounds dripped down her sides, walking around her head to check her bridle. As if sensing his turmoil she pressed her muzzle against his chest with a small chuff. A rare, small smile inched its way up his cheeks and as he finished the last clasp he gently ran his hand over her ears. 

“Let’s move on from that shithole, yeah?” he said quietly, pulling himself up into the saddle with ease. “Find a nice stable for you with some good food,” he continued, and he didn’t even need to nudge Xen forward, the thought of a warm shelter motivation enough to go faster. 

It was always jarring to be enfolded in society after such a long time out in the wilds. The sounds, smells and sights often overwhelmed him, but he’d learnt in the two seasons he’d been away from the Keep - and his brothers - to shove down his innate reflex to snarl at everything that irritated him. That didn’t mean he couldn’t stop his hands from inching down to his fangs that sat at his sides. 

He was quick to urge Xen towards a stable close to the inn, settling her down in the warmth before untying the hound from her back and dragging it behind him. Jaskier could tell he looked a sight, his tunic and trousers covered in monster blood and his armour half missing, his hands full of dead monsters that was leaving a wide swath of blood behind it. He needed coin if he wanted to mend his armour and to get coin he’d need another mark. 

People actively avoided him on the path, sometimes darting to the other side of the street in fear as he made his way through the small town. He headed straight for a small building to the right of the inn with single minded focus, brown eyes locked onto his destination. He had to bite his lip in glee as the guard behind the desk jumped at the thud the hellhound’s body made as he tossed it onto the table. 

“Didn’t think you’d do it,” the man said once he’d gotten over his shock. Jaskier didn’t say a word, watching with a passive expression as the guard gently eased the corpse over slightly with an uneasy look. The sound the bag of coins made against the wood of the table was far more musical to Jaskier’s ears and he tucked it into his pocket quickly.

“I need to find a potions master,” he suddenly said, his dark brown gaze glancing at the contract board absentmindedly. The man startled from where he had been poking at the corpse with a finger, eyes darting to Jaskier’s profile. He could feel the burning of the man’s gaze, see his confused expression out of his periphery and something in Jaskier’s chest preened at the effect his aura was having on the guard. Ivar would’ve been proud. 

That thought simultaneously turned his mood sour and yet caused his stomach to drop in homesickness. He wasn’t able to go back to the Keep for another few months yet, and it felt as if eons had been passed since he’d left. His brothers - much like himself - were in the same situation. 

“Well, there’d be no potions masters here,” the man replied once he’d managed to push the hellhound off his desk, hands folded on the wood of the table. “The town’s too small to warrant any potions master or sorcerer. But there is a cottage to the west of the woods where a court-witch works.” 

“And she’d be adept in potions?” Jaskier asked, and he had to tamp down on his annoyance when the man shrugged nonchalantly. He was surprised at his own lack of patience, but decided to not think about it too much.

The Witcher tugged down a contract sharply, coming just short of slamming the piece of paper onto the table. He watched with a harsh stare as the other signed off on it, handing the sheet back to him cautiously. 

Jaskier could feel the silence fracturing within him, his emotions almost clawing at his chest like a wild animal as he left. He wasn’t interrupted on his path to the stables, his jaw tight with tension as he tried to keep a sense of control on his composure. He could see that even Xen knew he was falling to bits as she tucked her head over his shoulder as they walked out of the town. 

He appreciated the comfort, his free hand not occupied by her reins patting her cheek gently in gratitude. The trees enveloped the two of them finally, and the sounds of the forest calmed Jaskier. It reminded him of when he used to lay in his bed within the Keep, listening to the calls of the animals that surrounded them. 

He paused their pace for a few seconds to let the sounds roll over his shoulders and calm his anger. He could tell the silence was still fractured, the claw marks against his ribcage fading slowly and the thing in his chest calming until it felt like a prowling animal rather than a snarling beast. Xen nudged her muzzle against Jaskier’s shoulder, prompting the Witcher to reach up with a hand again and scratching her nose gently. 

“Thanks Xen,” he murmured, wary to speak louder because of the shake in his voice. “Just needed to gain control again.” 

“What did I actually grab,” he asked himself, tugging the piece of paper from his pouch at his mid back, stretching it out gently to inspect the details of his mark. 

According to the contract, a cockatrice had been terrorizing farmers that strayed close to the cave system it dwelled in. Cockatrices were difficult for adventurers to take down, but to the Witchers of the Viper school they were pieces of cake. Ivar had ensured his students had the antidote for its poison, and that their fangs would be shiny and sharp if they were ever to encounter one. 

Unfortunately, Jaskier had run short of his potions after the last job when the hound had taken longer to bring down than he thought, hence his reason for searching for a potions master. However when he checked he was glad to see he still had an antidote on hand, tucked away in one of Xen’s saddle bags. 

They managed to get close to the cottage by the time the sun began to set, the wards surrounding the area obvious to Jaskier because of the buzzing of magic beneath his skin. He didn’t dare break through the perimeter that evening however, drawing Xen away to a nearby stream for them to rest until morning. The magic was strong, incessant and almost sad to Jaskier, his own power huddling close to his heart, glancing against the prowling animal in his chest and setting his nerves vibrating. 

He settled against Xen’s side, her heat seeping into his back pleasantly. The night was clear and cool but Jaskier could feel his muscles almost begging for a comfortable bed and warm food. He didn’t dare move from where he sat however, not wanting to get on the potions master’s bad side before he’d even had a chance to make his purchase. 

He didn’t sleep that night, casting his eyes to the stars above him and watching the sunrise the next morning. He found that his mind would drift in these long moments of quiet, memories floating up to the forefront before fading back again, like the ebbing tide of the sea. He didn’t mind it though, and he relaxed further into Xen’s warm heat. 

It was Xen’s gentle nicker that drew Jaskier from his thoughts and into an upright position. The fire that he’d started that night had since dimmed into smoldering ash, the light glowing gently. He swept the embers aside with his foot, snuffing them out before moving to grab hold of Xen’s reins once again. 

The wards were stronger than Jaskier originally thought, their power sending a shiver through his spine as he and Xen stepped past them. He could sense them pulsing, the magic wiggling itself under his skin until it felt as if his whole body was a live wire. Xen whickered in trepidation, stepping closer until her flank was pressed against Jaskier’s side almost protectively. 

The cottage they came upon wasn’t what Jaskier expected for a potions master, however he didn’t have much to go on as he usually didn’t rely on them for his concoctions. It was small, almost unassuming amongst the tall trees that surrounded it and what looked like an ivy plant creeping up the south facing wall. The red of the wood accented the green plants that curled up towards the light at the bottom of the porch. The morning sun slanted against the many windows on the bottom floor, impeding his view into the cottage. A small shed stood off to the side, and Jaskier’s keen nose picked out the scent of warm hay. 

He began to lead Xen slowly to it, glancing towards the door of the cottage warily in case he was stopped in his tracks by the sorcerer within. They made it across the grass without injury and Jaskier tied Xen to the post next to the shed. She chowed down on the hay she was given happily as the Witcher turned to the building once again. Carefully he tucked his medallion into his tunic, hiding it from view so as to avoid a possibly tense encounter. 

The wood of the door was a gorgeous mahogany, echoing grandly when Jaskier knocked twice. He didn’t have to wait long for it to open, the hinges not making a sound as his eyes landed on the sorcerer - or, should he say, sorceress. 

She was, in a word, beautiful. Her unusual violet eyes pierced into his brown ones like daggers, her calculating gaze sending a shiver down his spine at the intensity, the power within that one look almost awe inspiring. He felt as if he couldn’t look away. She held herself with a certain amount of poise and grace, shoulders back and hands folded at her waist. Her dark hair reminded Jaskier of ebony, and a small part of him felt intimidated by the goddess before him. 

“Can I help you?” the sorceress began, tone almost condescending as she took in Jaskier’s simple armor and clothing. He never thought to accent his presence with flashy garments, that was Serrit’s thing, but he took pride in the condition of his tunics and boots given his occupation. The woman seemed unimpressed with his appearance however, and Jaskier guessed it would be completely different if he pulled his medallion from under his tunic. He didn’t dare to however, drawing himself up straighter and taking a deep breath to almost steal himself. 

“I’m in need of some potions,” Jaskier began, pulling empty vials from his pouch and presenting them to the sorcerer. “I’ve heard that you’re quite adept at potion making?” She took them from him with great care, pulling the stopper out and inhaling the remnants of the concoction’s scent. 

“You’re in luck, I made a batch of these yesterday,” she said, stepping aside to let Jaskier in and he stepped over the threshold. He could sense the sorceress’s magic in the cottage immediately, it was everywhere and very hard to ignore as he went further in. “If you’d have come earlier it would’ve been a while before they would be ready.” 

“Well, it’s a good thing I took my time, isn’t it?” Jaskier asked rhetorically, knowing the sorceress had sensed him entering her area of the forest last night. 

“So, what’s a Witcher doing so far from home?” she suddenly queried, causing Jaskier to tense up immediately. He watched her eyes drift down to his fangs holstered at his sides. “A Viper, no less.” 

He stared at her, gaging her reaction as he gently eased his medallion out from under his tunic, the metal buzzing under his fingers. She didn’t even flinch, her mouth twitching slightly with a smirk that seemed almost smug. Before he could even open his mouth she cut in once again. 

“I could sense your chaos as soon as you stepped past my wards,” she said, and Jaskier winced, feeling as if she’d gotten a glimpse into the very depths of his soul. “You must’ve gone through something quite traumatic for it to have cracked so much.” 

Jaskier almost snarled at her then, taking multiple steps back until his hip hit a small table. The sorceress seemed unaffected by his harsh glare and bared teeth, and suddenly his chest burned, as if something was searching within him. His hand came up to clutch his tunic with a shaky grip, shoulders heaving with quick and shallow breaths. He could feel the animal clawing at his chest again, and he waited until he was able to shove it back behind his ribcage before he spoke again, sweat beading at his temple. 

“Don’t you dare do that again,” he told her, voice quivering almost imperceptibly. 

“Or what?” she asked, leaning forward slightly so that her violet eyes caught hold of Jaskier’s brown ones and didn’t let go. It almost turned into a battle of wills as the two fought for domination. Jaskier couldn’t hold it though, gaze darting downwards and his grip on the edge of the table almost causing grooves in the wood. 

He didn’t see the sudden yet small look of concern the sorceress gave him as he pulled his parts together, sealing them with pure spite and determination before he stood upright. “I’ll take those potions now,” he told her, gesturing to the vials that stood on the table next to her. 

It took the rest of the day to ride to the cave systems from the sorceress’s cottage. This meant that the sun was disappearing under the horizon by the time the Jaskier tugged gently on Xen’s reigns at the entrance. Jaskier didn’t even bother to ask the sorceress’s name as he left, only handing over the necessary payment for the concoctions and slamming the door behind him. He had run out of shits to worry about what Auckes would think of his manners - or Kolgrim for that matter. 

The entrance into the caves was small, almost a hole in the cliff face, Jaskier’s keen nose easily picking out the lightest scent of blood wafting through the air as the wind breezed past him. He tied Xen to a tree trunk, pulling the pack that contained his potions open and tucking some vials into his utility pouch at his back. His fingers brushed against the hilts of his fangs, taking comfort in their presence and familiarity. 

Xen nickered as he ran his hand over her nose, shuffling forward as if she knew he was about to head into a dangerous situation. He gave her a small genuine smile - one that was hardly seen by others - as he pressed his forehead against her’s. 

“I’ll be fine, Xen,” he told her quietly, breathing in her scent in an attempt to calm his heartbeat that thundered against his chest like a drum. “You wait here and mind the bags, and I’ll be back by sunrise at the latest, okay?” His hand made one last pass up and down her nose before he stepped back, letting the darkness of the cave envelop him like an old friend. 

It was almost heavy against his shoulders as the pinprick of light behind him grew smaller the deeper he went into the caves. He quickly swallowed down one of his potions and the darkness cleared up slightly, letting him see the formations of stone holding up the rock above his head. The scent of blood was getting stronger the further he walked, the smell of the damp being overwhelmed by it. He let his fingers graze against the stone wall, water collecting on his skin as he went - or was it something else? He couldn’t tell. It was completely silent in the cave system, save for the sound of dripping water, but that aided Jaskier as he crept through quietly.

He tracked the path of his mark through the cave for about half an hour until he got to the main chamber, and his keen sight spied the cockatrice on the other side. It was smaller than he thought, but no less deadly as he took in its claws, wings, beak and tail feathers. He crouched next to a stone column quietly, black gaze taking in the space he had to fight in and his opponent with great concentration, the only sound surrounding him being the quiet breathing of the cockatrice. 

The pillars of stone and sharp rock formations would give him good cover from the beast, but the puddles of water that covered the ground wouldn’t help to hide his positioning. However, the lack of wind gave him an advantage as it took away one of the cockatrice’s senses, the dampness of the cave and the thick smell of copper covering any other scents within the area. 

The rasp of his fangs as he pulled them from their sheaths was indiscernible and he silently crept forward. The cockatrice’s tail feathers twitched and the beast moved forward slightly until its head rested against its claws. Jaskier halted his movements, holding his breath as he waited for it to move again. The silence descended over the cave again, the beast didn’t move, and the Witcher heaved a quiet sigh of relief as he stood to move again. 

His boot suddenly kicked a loose stone, sending it bouncing to the floor of the cave and causing the cockatrice’s eyes to snap open. The beast let out an almighty cry when it spied the intruder, standing from its resting place and stretching its wings as far as they could go in such an enclosed space. It lashed out with its beak first, causing Jaskier to dodge to the side to avoid being bitten in half. He ran for cover behind a stone cropping, feeling the ground shake beneath him at the beast’s attempts to land a strike. 

Its claws suddenly raked over the top of the cropping he crouched behind, sending the stone flying and exposing Jaskier to its attacks once again. He dodged the leaping jab the beast aimed at his head in the nick of time, rolling off to the side and aiming a shallow slice to its leg. It shrieked at the small injury he landed and retaliated with a swipe of its wing, sending the Witcher flying. 

He felt something crack within his chest as he slammed into a stone column, but he dragged himself up as fast as he could, ignoring the screaming of his body as he moved forward once again. He dodged and sidestepped every attack the cockatrice tried to aim at him, the beast using everything at its disposal to end him, but Jaskier landed his own quickfire strikes which only seemed to aggravate the beast more. 

However, the cockatrice’s anger made it clumsy and its hits less effective, the swipes and jabs almost becoming desperate. But it didn’t miss a single attack. Jaskier could feel blood dripping down his face from a shallow gash at his eyebrow and body aching with bruises and a possible broken rib as he took shelter behind a column. Desperately he dragged a Shallow potion from his pouch, gulping it down without preamble and darting out from his hiding place once again. 

The cockatrice shrieked when it spotted him but Jaskier ran for its blindspot just behind its wing joints, avoiding its gaze and swiftly jabbed his blade into its flank. It cried out in shock and pain, trying to get away from the Witcher but Jaskier landed another slice, watching as its blood splattered on the ground. 

He became distracted suddenly, trying to dodge the cockatrice’s tail feathers and not noticing the claws coming straight for him. They gouged into his side, sending a roaring fire through his nerves that Jaskier knew was poison.  _ Its claws were doused in venom, how irritating,  _ he thought. He couldn’t move from the beast’s grip as it didn’t seem to want to let go, almost swinging him around like a rag doll before sending him flying for what felt like the third? no fourth time that evening. 

He felt his body crash against the ground, rolling over and over until it came to a stop, his nose pressed against the cold rock beneath him. He could feel his heart slowing, his training against poisons kicking in as he stilled his breathing. He felt rather than heard the cockatrice’s crow of victory, the rock reverberating with the sound underneath him. 

He stayed absolutely motionless, sound returning to his ears slowly as the beast made its way over to him. He waited, the seconds ticking by so slowly that Jaskier thought the cockatrice wasn’t moving at all. He felt warm air brush against the back of his neck and he finally lept into action, aiming one of his fangs to the beast’s stomach and carving into it with no remorse. 

He watched from his crouched position as the cockatrice cried out in pain, throwing back its head to pull away from Jaskier but it fell to the ground and he listened as its heart slowed to a stop, and the puddle of red grew beneath it. Jaskier stood finally, swaying slightly at the poison in his blood and making his way over to the body. He pulled out a few tail feathers and grabbed the beast’s talons as proof of its demise before turning towards the entrance to the cave system, leaving its carcass to whatever other beast was living in the caves. 

When he reached into his pouch for an antidote his fingers met glass shards and spilt liquid, stinging his skin slightly. He stared at his hand in indifference, feeling his potions wear off finally and his eyes turn back to normal. “Fuck,” he murmured at the broken vial, shuffling slowly towards the early morning light that filtered through the entrance. 

He could feel his consciousness fading and he just managed to pull himself into Xen’s saddle before black spots invaded his vision. He didn’t give his companion any directions but he could feel her trotting away from the caves as he leant forward onto her neck, his eyes slipping closed. 

Jaskier woke to a soft bed beneath him and the sorceress staring at him with her otherworldly violet eyes. His legs and arms twitched with the need to get up, grab his fangs grab  _ anything  _ she could  **_kill him_ ** \--

“You’re twitchier than other Witchers,” she said, eyes alighting on his tense muscles and anxious expression. 

“And I suppose you’ve met many of us in your lifetime?” he asked, pushing the sarcasm in his tone to hide the obvious shakiness in his voice. 

“You could say that. You lot have a surprising habit of showing up almost half dead at people’s doors. Although you’re the first snake I’ve met,” she replied, and Jaskier’s hand shot up to feel for his pendant. His neck was bare but the sorceress cleared her throat, holding up the necklace at the end of her finger with a flourish. 

Jaskier made a grab for it, but his almost-healed wounds twinged causing him to hiss in pain. The sorceress seemed to take pity on him, laying the necklace against the bedsheets gently and leaning back to watch him snatch it. He shoved the chain over his head and tucked the medallion under his tunic quickly, sending a glare in her direction. 

“A thank you would be nice,” she told him, unflinching at his harsh glare as she folded her arms across her chest. He could feel the animal in his chest begin to prowl again, but he ignored it. 

“ _ Thank you _ ,” he sneered, curling his lip, but the sorceress only rolled her eyes before standing from her chair. Jaskier watched with wary brown eyes as she placed his - cleaned - clothes at the end of the bed. 

“If you want, there is food for you downstairs,” she told him, expression blank as she left Jaskier to his thoughts, quietly shutting the door behind her. He listened to the quiet click of her boots against the wood stairs before pulling back the covers and swinging his legs over the side. 

The floorboards were cold beneath his feet and he swayed when he stood, but he was able to stay standing, slowly getting dressed with a few winces and hisses as his muscles stretched. He could feel how stiff his body was, recollecting Ivar’s lecture on cockatrice venom and how it burned its way through the victims veins causing immense pain and leaving the muscles tight once it left. He remembered it had been Rai who’d been the example that day, how he’d howled in pain as the venom made its way through his bloodstream. Now he knew how he’d felt. 

He didn’t dwell on the thought for long, opening the door to the corridor to head downstairs. He could smell something delicious cooking and Jaskier followed his nose into the kitchen. It was jolting to see the sorceress hovering over the cooking fire, black sleeves rolled up and dark hair tied back by a colorful ribbon. It was a complete contrast to what Jaskier had seen of her, but he didn’t comment on it. 

When she spotted him, her movements stalled and the atmosphere around them became heavy, almost wary, but he didn’t dare say a word as he leant his arms against the wooden countertop. 

“It smells good,” he broached for want of conversation, his brain screaming at his mouth to stop. The sorceress stared at him in surprise, and Jaskier realised he still didn’t know her name even though she saved him from certain death. 

“It’s a combination of rat tails and horseshit,” she replied bluntly, but Jaskier could see the mirth twinkling in her violet eyes. He laughed quietly, the animal within his chest suddenly calming at the friendly repartee. “Your horse was wise to bring you to me. Any slower a pace and you would’ve been a walking corpse.” 

Jaskier felt a lance of pride shoot through his chest, making a mental reminder to feed Xen as many carrots and apples she deserved when he stocked up on food at the next town. “Thank you,” he suddenly said, brown eyes meeting violet as the sorceress glanced up from her cooking. “For saving me. You didn’t need to, you could’ve left me to die draped over my horse's neck.” 

She glanced away quickly, a blush racing up her neck and colouring her cheeks pink. “It’s fine, the least I could do,” she murmured, pulling the pot up from the cooking fire and pouring the two of them a serving each. 

They sat in companionable silence, and Jaskier suddenly realised that being in the small cottage was soothing something within him that he hadn’t realised that needed to be calmed. Something about the aura that permeated every room acted as a balm for his magic and he found himself relaxing further into his seat. He could tell the tension was leaving from the sorceress’s body by the laxing of her shoulders. 

It was after he’d finished his second serving that he worked up the courage to speak again. “I never got your name..?” he finally said warily, once he’d cleared his throat. 

“Yennefer,” she said after a few seconds, “of Vengerberg.” 

“It’s very nice to meet you, Yennefer of Vengerberg. I’m Jaskier of Gorthur Gvaed,” he replied, sending her as kind a smile as he could. A quiet chuckle shook Yennefer’s shoulders at his awkward grimace, and Jaskier felt his cheeks burn with a small blush. 

He didn’t notice until he left the cottage the next day, but the monster in his chest had stopped prowling and his mind was blanketed in a silence he hadn’t experienced before. This one was comforting and kind, reminiscent of Yennefer’s gentle fingers against his back as the two of them embraced in farewell. He held on tightly to that silence as he rode Xen back through the trees, the cottage disappearing behind the moss covered trunks. 


End file.
